June 6, 2003. It’s almost 9.30 p.m. The goal is simple. We want to meet O.P.Nayyar – the legendary music maestro, the creator of some of the most scintillating tunes in Hindi film music. The setting is extremely informal. We have gathered in the drawing room of Shobhana and Chandramohan’s Dubai- home. These singers-cum-organizers of the recently concluded, O.P. Nayyar musical show- Phir Wohi Dil Laya Hoon are a wonderful couple - passionate about music, pleasant in their attitude and perfect as our hosts. Me, my dear friend Shekhar (Dr.Chandrashekhar) and his charming mother – all are waiting for the great man to arrive. Hoping that it should be a meeting to remember. Hesitant that it might all just fizzle out. You know how celebrities are!

Then he walks in - tall, erect and handsome – showing little if any evidence of his 78 years. That famous all white attire complemented by that even more famous black felt hat. After the introductions and awkward pleasantries are over, I just quietly click on a MP3 file in my laptop. C.H.Atma’s sonorous, Saigal-esque voice starts resonating from the computer speakers – Is Bewafa Jahan Mein Wafa Dhoondhate Rahe. O.P. - (well, that’s what the music lovers all over the world call him!), gives me a startled look and smilingly asks, “From where did you get that song? That’s the first ever film song I composed for Aasman. It was 1952. I was just about twenty-five then.” The next moment, he is further floored by Shekhar’s request to sign on the jacket cover of the long-play record of Sambandh. “Oh, what a request! This is my life’s best work and for the first time, somebody is asking me to sign on it!”

The barriers are broken. He knows that he is surrounded by some real admirers who have actually delved deep into his music. “Please don’t use the tape-recorder. It makes me nervous.” His first sentence deprives me from recording these priceless conversations but later he compensates by allowing me to video-shoot his wonderful rendition of Chain Se Humko Kabhie Aap Ne Jeene Na Diya. The way he chides Shobhana, (who is singing with him and whom he fondly calls ‘Bahu’) into taking that extra- effort to bring out the exact tonal expression is something extra-ordinary. “She sings better than you, Beta”- he mockingly tells Chandramohan, who (like any good husband!) promptly nods in agreement. Chandramohan’s three- year old daughter plays with O.P.’s hat, making fun of his bald head. Sipping his cool drink he looks at her indulgently in a grandfatherly way and one by one answers our queries.

The man is frank and forthright, giving two hoots to conventional celebrity wisdom of speaking the diplomatic lingo. He uses language that the purists would certainly deem un-parliamentary – it is crude and rude at times. H